


Lost in the Fire

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2017 [25]
Category: Clan Mitchell - Fandom, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Clan Mitchell, Gen, POV Outsider, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 08:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Any, Any, The Things We Lost in the Fire, Bastille."Alira learns that sometimes victory can feel like a loss.





	

When Alira was sixteen harvests, she learned a strange truth: sometimes victory could feel like a loss.  
  
The infidels had come through the chappa’ai, spreading their lies and their blasphemy, that the Ori were not divine, that the Priors did not speak truth, that the Book of Origin was fiction.  
  
There were only five infidels, three men and two women, one of them bespectacled like a scholar, but he’d proved himself warrior enough, letting loose with his weapon when some of the village pickets tried to capture him. Alira’s parents had heard rumors of these infidels in their trade with other planets. They called themselves Stargate Command. They were almost as powerful as the Impostor Gods, the Goa’uld. They had better technology, better weapons.  
  
Alira’s older brother trained with a staff and a bow, was a talented archer in his own right, but these Stargate Commanders had much greater weapons. Alira hadn’t known that so few could injure so many.  
  
Injure, but not kill. It was just a misunderstanding, the scholar-warrior said. They didn’t wish to harm anyone. They wished to be allowed to contact their own people, and then they could summon help, get medical treatment for the wounded.  
  
Alira’s parents and the rest of the village council convened - Alira listened shamelessly at the door, the other boys and girls crowded around her - and it was decided that they would not be allowed to contact their own people, because their people would only send reinforcements.  
  
The only way to handle this incursion, these blasphemers, was to purify them by fire. So they were bound in the town square, and Alira’s brother and the other men built a massive pyre. The entire village gathered to listen to the Headman announce the charges - blasphemy, assault - and the verdict - guilty, all five of them, on both counts - and they were to be given the opportunity in the night to think over their crimes, and if they were willing to repent in the morning, they would be set free.  
  
Alira pretended to be asleep, and once she heard her father and brother both snoring, she sneaked out of the house and across the square to the pyre, where all five infidels were chained to wooden posts. They were awake, huddled as close together as they could, whispering.  
  
“They knew enough to take our gear,” said their leader, who called himself Mitchell. “So we can’t radio back to the gate, or blast our way out.”  
  
“What I don’t get,” said the scholar-warrior named Daniel, “is why Landry hasn’t sent Marines for SAR. We missed check-in hours ago.”  
  
Alira knew why. There was a special shield the elders used to close the chappa’ai for important events, so no one could come in or out.  
  
“Vala,” said the big man named Teal’c, who wore the emblem of the False Gods, “if you are so inclined, now would be an appropriate time to effectuate one of your clever schemes.”  
  
Vala had dark hair and bright eyes and was huddled against Daniel. “No clever schemes here. Been in this situation before, burnt to death. Got the t-shirt.” Her tone was light but something hitched in her voice. She’d been crying.  
  
“Sam?” Mitchell asked.  
  
The blonde woman, Carter, shook her head. “Sorry, Cam. I got nothing.”  
  
“Hey Daniel, think you could Ascend, do a little Oma Desala, fling some lightning, something?” Mitchell asked.  
  
Daniel shook his head. “No. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.”  
  
Carter said, “Should we repent tomorrow? See if they let us go?”  
  
Vala said, flatly, “No.”  
  
Teal’c also said, “No. Bowing to yet more false gods is not an option.”  
  
Mitchell said, finally, “Let’s try and sleep.”  
  
Alira turned and slipped back through the shadows to her house, climbed in through her window and back into her bed and fell asleep.  
  
She dreamed of fire and sadness and lightning, and when she woke, it was just barely dawn.  
  
Dawn. When the execution would take place. Of course her parents and brother hadn’t wakened her. Alira scrambled into a clean shift and kirtle and then out the window, to the village square, which was already packed with people. Alira had to elbow a few people to get a good vantage point.  
  
The village Headman stood on the pyre beside the infidels. He asked for their repentance; there was none, though Daniel expressed remorse for the people they’d injured.  
  
And then the Headman asked for their last words.  
  
“When you say _any_ , do you actually mean any?” Mitchell asked. “Because some people get kinda shirty about what I’ve got to say -”  
  
“We are honorable people,” said the Headman, “and a person’s last words, infidel or no, are precious.”  
  
“Probably no blasphemy, Mitchell,” Daniel muttered.  
  
Mitchell cleared his throat. “Well, I just want you all to know that I was raised a good church-going Southern boy, and while I may not have always been a model of good Christian piety, there are some traditions I still observe, and a good funeral hymn is one of them.”  
  
“If you start singing Amazing Grace,” Daniel said, “I swear to -”  
  
“I’m not that trite. In my last moments, you accuse me of triteness?” Mitchell protested.  
  
Alira heard more than one girl and boy stifle a giggle. The Headman cast a glare at the assembled crowd.  
  
“Your last words?” he asked.  
  
Mitchell cleared his throat again - and began to sing.  
  
Alira hadn’t known a voice could be that sweet, that clear. She’d heard the harvest chants and hunting chants and cleaning chants all growing up, but Mitchell’s voice was beautiful.  
  
He sang of a misty morning, and a sky with only one moon, and singing beasts called sparrows, and adventure losing its meaning, and being homeward bound.  
  
_Bind me not to the pasture_  
_Chain me not to the plow_  
_Set me free to find my calling_  
_And I’ll return to you somehow_  
  
He was singing, Alira realized, not about going home to his family, but his soul being set free, to rejoin the Ori in the heavens.  
  
Daniel joined in on the chorus the second time, and Carter on the third, and when the song finally ended, Alira realized she was weeping. She wasn’t the only one.  
  
Mitchell’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he coughed to clear his throat, nodded at the Headman. “All right. That’s what I got. My last words. Carter? Jackson? Vala? Teal’c?”  
  
Teal’c said something about dying free, and Daniel apologized again, and Carter told her teammates she was honored to have served with them, and Vala said something to Daniel about having taken his favorite jacket because it was warm and comfy, but Alira didn’t really hear them, because she was still weeping, trying to ingrain that song in her memory, because she knew she would never hear the likes of it again.  
  
And that was it. Their very last words. The Headman stepped off of the pyre and nodded to Alira’s brother and the other young men, and they stepped forward with their torches.  
  
Alira couldn’t watch. She turned and fled, back to her house, flung herself into a haystack in the barn and sobbed. She could hear, distantly, the Headman’s voice, his sermon about the evils of the nonbelievers, the infidels, how faith had won out over deception, how the Ori were victorious once again. She had to cover her ears when she heard the first scream.  
  
Alira didn’t know how long she cried, but eventually she ran out of tears and was sobbing dryly into the hay. She kept her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear any of it, and she lay there, curled tightly and feeling utterly broken apart.  
  
If she squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, she could hear Mitchell’s voice, his song.  
  
A hand came down on her shoulder.  
  
She screamed and opened her eyes, scrambled away.  
  
A man was standing beside the haystack. He wore a Stargate Command uniform and carried one of their weapons. Like Mitchell, he had blue eyes.  
  
“Hey,” he said, and he had the same weird drawl in his voice Mitchell had had. “It’s all right. You’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you. What’s your name?”  
  
“Alira.”  
  
“Hey, Alira. My name’s Ash.”  
  
Ash. Like the dust from fire.  
  
The smell of burning flesh hit Alira’s nose, and she turned away and retched.  
  
Ash said, to someone else, “I got a kid here, a girl. She was asleep in a haystack or something. Roger that, sir.”  
  
Alira began sobbing afresh, her tears renewed. Ash patted her back, just as her brother did, and made vague soothing noises.  
  
He hummed, patting her back in rhythm to the song, and she realized. He was humming that song, Mitchell’s song.  
  
Alira straightened up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned to him, trembling.  
  
He peered at her. “You okay?”  
  
She nodded shakily. He started to say more, but then he lifted a hand to his ear, dipped his chin, like he was listening to something only he could hear.  
  
“Go for Mitchell. Yessir. Right away, sir.”  
  
Mitchell. But he was dead. He’d died. He’d burned, been purified by fire so his soul could return to the Ori -  
  
And Alira realized. Ash’s blue eyes, his brown hair, his weird drawl. He was the other Mitchell’s kin. Brother? Son? Cousin?  
  
“Stay here,” Ash said to Alira, his tone very serious. “I mean it. Don’t go outside. Don’t even look outside, okay? I’ll be right back.”  
  
And he turned and headed out of the barn, into the square.  
  
Alira couldn’t help it. She followed, because she didn’t want him to see -  
  
The pyre was gone, a smouldering pile of ashes and embers. And everyone in the town was dead. Struck down where they stood, eyes open in terror and gazing at the sky, the scent of charred flesh rising from the burn marks over their hearts.  
  
Ash stood beside the remains of the pyre, holding something shiny in his palm. A necklace, Alira realized. The Stargate Commanders had each been wearing necklaces.  
  
“I’m sorry, Captain,” an older soldier said.  
  
Ash closed his fist over the necklace, face pale. “I’ll make sure this gets home to our parents.”  
  
Daniel said, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough -”  
  
Alira stifled a scream, because Daniel should have been burning, should have been dead, but he was walking toward Ash, wearing ill-fitting clothes. The older soldier held out a necklace, and Daniel took it, slipped it over his head. It left a streak of ash on his cheekbone.  
  
“Not your fault the Ori have hordes of hapless humans brainwashed into killing each other in the name of faith,” Ash spat, voice bitter. “Sir, we should get the rest of the dog tags and go.”  
  
The older soldier pawed through the embers and ashes for three more necklaces, put them in one of his many pockets. “I agree, Captain Mitchell.” He raised his voice and said, “Fall back to the gate!”  
  
And then Daniel noticed Alira. “What about her?”  
  
Ash turned. “Alira. I told you to stay in the barn. You shouldn’t have seen this.”  
  
The older soldier frowned. “Are there any more survivors?”  
  
“Just a few other smaller kids, sir,” said another soldier, about Ash’s age.  
  
Daniel was squinting - because he had no spectacles, Alira realized. “Well, this is a pre-industrial agrarian society. Kids Alira’s age are pretty self-sufficient. And they knew how to work the gate to trade with other planets, to put a shield on the gate to keep you out. None of the buildings were damaged when I went Oma Desala on the locals, so the kids should have food, supplies. Yes?” This he directed at Alira. “You can take care of yourselves for a few days?”  
  
Alira nodded. She was a competent cook and washerwoman. She could mind other children while she worked.  
  
“We can’t just leave them here,” the other young soldier said. “Dr. Jackson -”  
  
“Then send a different team through, to either babysit them or relocate them,” Daniel snapped. “I have to go back to Earth and report to General Landry and bury what’s left of my friends, and I’m sure Captain Mitchell will need some time to tell his family about his brother.”  
  
Ash swallowed hard but said nothing.  
  
The older soldier finally said, “Elliot, stay here. Mitchell, escort Jackson back to Stargate Command. I’ll be in touch.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Ash said. He nodded to Daniel, and the two of them set off in the direction of the chappa’ai.  
  
Alira watched them go and wondered what the hollow feeling in her chest was, after the village had done everything right, everything just under the Book of Origin, and then she spotted her mother and father and brother among the dead, and she realized, for all that the Headman thought he had won, Alira and the other children had lost and lost everything.  
  
Elliot turned to Alira, expression grim. “C’mon. Let’s go check on those kids.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cam's song is Homeward Bound by Marta Keen


End file.
